And she liked it there
by altairattorney
Summary: She may be a pigeon, but she is a clever one.


**And she liked it there**

_Written January 18th, 2012 - Revised October 11th, 2014_

Sometimes, Yomiel has a feeling he will never be able to accomplish anything.

Given his condition, the statement itself should already sound like a joke. Yet, to much to his dismay, most rules of the world no longer apply to him; for one, he doesn't think anybody else could claim to have been a dead man and a living cat at the same time.

At least he remembers whom he used to be, and knows perfectly what he intends to do now.

He has tested his powers a lot in the past few days. Without the black kitten, his moves are still too slow — the fastest he can manage is shifting from core to core. Not the best yet, he is sure, but it will have to do. As for the rest, he may be strong enough to manipulate something more than this little rat.

In the morning breeze, the leaves of the bush his mouse is climbing on brush gently against the wall. He notices the branches are quite high; from there, without any dark obstacles in the blue scenery, Yomiel could search the Ghost World more fluidly. In fact, as soon as he can get the animal up there, he sees another small something shine in a short distance.

The sight gives him a rush of energy. It is a different living core, just close enough for him to reach.

Will it work? He may have much time to think about it, but the moment to act within is quick and limited. That of a ghost really is a hard life.

His soul jumps in a split second, and he finds himself there. It is the body of a little she-pigeon; the windowsill is just below her warm feathers, right in front of a messy desk.

It feels different from sharing the cat's body, but it is almost easier. Her brain is simple, graceful, without a care in the world. And he slowly realizes that, if he thinks straight and with enough decision, she seems to follow his train of thought.

Now, for some reason, the most natural thought to come along is that the strange man right there could serve him well.

He keeps his window open; he is too focused on his work to care about the chilly morning breezes. He seems the right kind of man, and Yomiel is grateful for that – his distraction will do nothing but good to his plans.

Promptly, with all the energy he can collect, he unfolds the pigeon's wings and sends her to occupy his head.

In spite of the lack of hair, their new position is eerily comfortable. He feels secure and confident up there, as if destiny believed them to finally be in the right place. Sitting stubbornly, and sometimes flying to give the poor lady a break, he swears he will not move from there until he gets what he wants.

The little brain in there shows a spark of reaction. She may be a pigeon, but she is a clever one.

Before Yomiel can understand what is happening in it, the beak moves on its own and pecks at the smooth skin of the doctor's forehead.

"Hey there, little thing," he croaks. "Where do you come from anyway?"

If he could, Yomiel would bite his fingers in disappointment. But there is no anger, no sign of annoyance in his voice; the human's silence is relaxed, friendly in a way.

"Oh well. You can stay there, provided that you keep quiet and behave. Okay with it, lovey-dove?"

A soft coo answers him. The human laughs. A peculiar reaction, Yomiel thinks.

It takes the doctor hours and hours – and it feels like two days at least – to get to Room 402, the one-hundredth room he visits in the obituary. As the lock clicks, Yomiel's weary wings give a start; there it is, a red jacket, a black shirt, the dead mass of his fair hair.

It's him – I mean, it's me, he whispers, and her feathery head follows. At last, I will get myself back.

He passes his own rush of emotion onto the body he is occupying, landing on the doctor's head with deep satisfaction and anxiety. Yet, in spite of his light grasp on the bald head and his slightly insistent coos, things do not seem to go as Yomiel planned. The man hesitates, standing just an inch too far from any core, as if he were looking for something.

He sure is a strange man.

When he finally walks to the other side of the room, it is to look for some tool in an abandoned cupboard. Damn. The corpse is unreachable from there.

He cannot give up now. Yet, when he tries to make the most logical move, Yomiel's frustration bursts and changes to surprise. The wings do not react; the pigeon does not move. Instead, he detects a strong feeling of warmth and comfort filling his, her, body with animal glee. Some sort of energy flows between the two living creatures — it is something he does not remember very well, something connected with life, without a doubt.

He thinks of his little kitten, wondering where on Earth he may be now. Truth be told, he does remind him of this kind of bond, so special, so lively.

He may be confused about ghost powers yet; but this, he recognizes, is none of his business anymore, and he has no choice but to go.

He gets ready for the right moment. A handful of seconds later, he jumps hastily to the body on the steel table, an instant before Doc closes the door and leaves the room behind.

Yomiel's ghostly sigh fills the corpse with relief. His destination has been reached just in time — as for the bird, the gods have decided otherwise.

Thankfully, he no longer needs any alternatives.


End file.
